


Agrace Sends Postcards

by kashinoha



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Henry has way too many religious puns, Humor, Post-Series, Vinculus is always right, excessive footnotes, kinkmeme prompt, questionable parenthood, the damnation of procreation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashinoha/pseuds/kashinoha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arabella really needs a cup of the most caffeinated tea she can find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agrace Sends Postcards

**Author's Note:**

> Someone at the kinkmeme wanted to see Childermass and Emma having a kid. At first I kind of passed it by because 1) I don't ship Childermass/Emma at all and 2) kidfic involves creating an entirely new character, which can be difficult and off-putting to some readers. But something in me really wanted to try this, so rather than whine about the impracticalities of it I decided to see if I could make it work. 
> 
> In the end I have to say, there was not a scene in this I didn't enjoy writing. I hope you all like!

 

**Agrace Sends Postcards  
**

All characters © Susanna Clarke

 

 

_October, 1817_

 

The news that Lady Wintertowne had fallen ill again was shared only by a select few in England, as no doctor or physician had been called, there were no little dark-haired men to spread rumors around, and Sir Walter Pole hadn’t the faintest idea.

It was around this time that John Childermass wrote to Arabella Strange, requesting an audience at her behest.

Arabella had only just shed her black mourning dress, as black was never becoming on her and it proved dreadfully hot in this year’s Indian summer. She had moved in with Henry at Great Hitherden, where his parish was flourishing and where, curiously, Lady Wintertowne owned an estate but a few miles away.

“He does not say his reasons for wanting to visit,” said Arabella, surveying the letter over her breakfast tea. “Do you suppose he has any news on Jonathan?”

Henry tutted behind his periodical and sausages.1 “It is doubtful,” he replied. “John Childermass is a busy man, from what I hear.”

Arabella could not argue with that. Between managing the freshly formed York Society of Learned Magicians, reading the King’s Book, and arranging affairs at the Starecross Academy (not to mention the trying task of keeping Vinculus in line), Childermass certainly had a lot on his plate.

Arabella coiled a brown ringlet around one finger thoughtfully. “Well in any case we should tidy up,” she told Henry, with a sip of her tea.

“I hope that is a joke, dear sister. You have seen to it that there is nothing left to tidy up,” replied Henry, frowning. He scrubbed a shoe against the polished wood. “I do think I could eat off this floor, if I were so inclined.”

“Yes, but it eases my mind all the same to pretend,” said Arabella.

 

 

Dressed in his customary black, with his ragged black hair and black eyes and foreboding scar splitting the left side of his face, it was not difficult to imagine John Childermass as the portent of doom and gloom. He looked thinner than Arabella last remembered, his scruff more pronounced and the pockets under his eyes bruised the color of old plums. Arabella had never thought especially ill of the man, but nor had she come to warm to him until rather recently.

She invited him inside and offered him a towel to dry himself from the rain. He accepted her offer gladly, though there was something in the way he moved and the shift of his eyes that made Arabella uneasy. Henry, a sweet fellow but hardly as skilled at reading people as she, took no notice and seated himself comfortably in the drawing room whilst they boiled a kettle for tea.

Childermass, his hair still dripping with rainwater, thanked them for having him on such a miserable evening. He inquired as to how they were faring and what they had been up to, though the mundanities of small-talk seemed to bother him greatly.

Arabella listened, all the while unable to shake the feeling that he came with heavy news. Judging by how uncomfortable Childermass appeared—and from years of observing him with Norrell, Arabella knew it took only the most unspeakable of horrors to make the man uncomfortable—it could not be good news at all.

“You are aware that Lady Wintertowne has not been well,” Childermass said, finally.

Arabella nodded. “I do hope it is nothing serious,” she said. “More peculiar still, she will not tell me what is the matter. I take it you have been able to acquire something on her well-being?”

Childermass cleared his throat. “In a way, aye,” he said.

“It is not fatal, I hope?” asked Henry, concerned. Thoughts of fairy curses and magical diseases wended through Arabella’s thoughts, making her shiver. Childermass merely sighed, and Arabella observed in the candlelight that he looked bone-tired.

“Some months ago I began to visit Lady Wintertowne at her estate in these parts,” he started, his voice but a rumble under the pattering of rain against the window. “Her knowledge of Faerie has been invaluable to us, and she is a might skilled with a pen. She also agreed to fund a small portion of Mr Segundus’s school, surprizingly.”

“I suppose she wishes to educate people in enchantments so none may fall subject to them,” Arabella remarked. She shuddered again. “It is not a pleasant thing at all sir, to be sick with magic.”

“Quite right,” said Childermass, and Arabella suddenly got the impression that he was speaking from experience. He exhaled through his nose. “Forgive me, Mrs Strange, Mr Woodhope,” he said. “I know how to speak on many subjects, but this is one I find I have little acquaintance with.”

“Then speak plainly, man,” Henry said. Childermass bowed his head in a nod.

“During my most recent visit to Lady Wintertowne, it has come to my attention that,” he cleared his throat. “I believe she may be with child.”

Henry choked on his tea.

Arabella stared. “I beg your pardon?” she said, over Henry’s coughing.

Childermass’s hands came up to fiddle with a loose button on his coat, which was another oddity. Childermass was not one to fidget. Arabella narrowed her eyes. A woman’s pregnancy should hardly distress a man so. There was something more here, and damned if she was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Pregnant,” she exclaimed, shaking her head with raised eyebrows. “I did not expect Emma to take any man’s company for some time. It seems quite unlike her. Are you certain?”

“She displays all the common symptoms,” said Childermass. “Not to mention she informed me of it herself.”

Henry, who had recovered, asked, “Why would she inform you, sir?”

And that was when it hit Arabella, like a carriage going at full speed. Why Emma had not told her. Why Childermass looked so uncomfortable. She felt like she had been smacked across the face with a particularly wet market fish.

“Why John Childermass!” she exclaimed, suddenly furious. Her mouth worked, but all at once the ability to form anything comprehensible to the English language seemed to have deserted her.

“What?” Henry looked between Arabella’s smoldering glare, Childermass’s soggy-dog look, and finally got it. “Oh. Oh, dear _Lord.”_

“Taking advantage of a lady, I expected better of you.” Arabella’s fists clenched around her dress. If she had been younger and perhaps of rasher mettle, she did believe she would have struck him.

Childermass’s eyes narrowed. “And do you believe, Mrs Strange, that Lady Wintertowne would in her right mind submit to anything she did not wholly wish herself?”

Arabella covered her eyes with one hand. She was not hearing this. “Henry, I have a sudden yearning for some brandy,” she said.

“As do I, I think,” Henry agreed. He awkwardly rose and left the drawing room in search of a bottle.

Lowering her hand from her eyes, Arabella turned towards Childermass again. “If this child is indeed yours, will you accept responsibility for it, Mr Childermass?” she asked.

“Obviously,” Childermass replied. “I have lived and traveled with men posing as children for almost thirty years. It is not too brash to say I possess the skills necessary for a real one.” He endeavored for his usual sideways grin, but it came out wan and pale. In truth, he looked quite frightened. Arabella had once seen such fear in Jonathan’s eyes when she first mentioned conceiving a child to him. Fatherhood, apparently, was infinitely more terrifying than motherhood.2 She felt some of the air deflate from her Balloon of Anger.

“I will do right by the lady, if that is your concern, Mrs Strange,” said Childermass. Arabella shook her head. Her mind was still reeling over JOHN CHILDERMASS and EMMA and BABY.

“She nearly killed you.”

Childermass nodded. “She did. But, if you recall, the bullet was not intended for me.”

“I daresay she wouldn’t have thought it a great loss, considering who your master was,” said Arabella.

“She has forgiven any past allegiances I may have had on the account of Mr Segundus and myself freeing her from her enchantment.”

Arabella rubbed her eyes again and blew out her breath in a long sigh. She did not speak for several minutes, allowing the fact that her dear friend was going to have a child with John Childermass sink in. The irony did not escape her.

Then there was the issue of marriage and class and what had Emma been _thinking?_ Her mother would have a fit if she ever found out and subsequently poor Walter would probably have a stroke.

After a long while, Arabella said, “So you come to me, Mr Childermass, because…?”

If Childermass had appeared distressed before, he now looked like he had just swallowed something live and wriggling. “I was my hope that your ladyship could provide…guidance.”

Arabella blinked. “I have never had a child,” she said. Her temper flared up anew. “Are you saying you thought I could help you because I am a woman and therefore know all about wet nursing and the like?”

“Hardly, Mrs Strange,” said Childermass, holding up a hand. But it was a feeble plea, and Arabella saw that that was exactly why he had come. Nothing else could have made Childermass so _twitchy._

“However,” continued Childermass, “If you do know anything on the topic of infant…matters, I would be greatly obliged.”

Arabella inwardly groaned. Here was the closest John Childermass ever came to screaming HELP ME (which at a later time she would find amusing in and of itself), and she really, really shouldn’t.

“Fine,” she said.

Childermass raised an eyebrow. At that moment Henry returned with a bottle of black brandy and glasses. He’d had the sense to retrieve three of them.

“But know that I am doing this for my friend,” Arabella said, taking a glass from her brother and holding it out as he poured a rather generous amount of brandy into it. Someone _has to be a good influence on the child,_ she thought, but did not say so aloud.

Childermass bowed his head and rubbed his scar with the expression of someone who has narrowly escaped the gallows.

“And take heed of this as well, John Childermass,” Arabella warned. “If you shirk your responsibilities to Emma or this child in any way you shall have your own pillar of darkness to contend with.” She paused for effect. “At my doing.”

“I do not doubt it, Mrs Strange.”

The rest of the visit was decidedly awkward, with Arabella glaring blearily over her vanishing brandy and Henry attempting to liven up the mood with talk of his parish and Miss Watkins. Finally, Childermass bade them farewell and rode off into the October night perhaps a little too quickly.

“So,” Henry said in the wake of his silence, “A baby, eh?”

“A baby,” Arabella agreed. She had become quite tipsy; something she had not done since that Christmas party at the turn of the century. “One Emma Wintertowne and one John Childermass has been quite enough for a lifetime,” she noted, and drained her glass. “I cannot imagine two of them.”

“You will not have to, come this time next year,” Henry reminded her.

Arabella merely groaned again and buried her face in her hands.

 

 

 

_Thanksgiving time, 1817_

 

“My word, Emma. Please tell me that isn’t your fourth biscuit.”

Emma smiled. “Apparently I am eating more than Vinculus now.”

“I have heard that is difficult to do,” Arabella replied.

“Not when you are dining for two,” said Emma, resting a hand on her stomach.

Arabella sighed and took a biscuit of her own. The weather was too chilly for her liking, but Emma no longer complained of the cold. On the contrary, she often remarked on being warm.

“You know, I do wish you would have told me first,” Arabella said.

Emma tossed her hair, which she had wound in a shining, dark braid over one shoulder. She still looked as beautiful as ever, though regretful as she stared upon her friend’s countenance. “I do apologize, Bell,” she said. “I suppose I panicked a bit. It is a delicate matter, informing one that you are to be a mother. And by someone like Mr Childermass.”

“On that subject,” Arabella said, poking her meat around with a fork, “I would have suspected Mr Segundus or Sir Walter, at least. I realize it is not my business, but you never did explain to me why John Childermass.”

Emma shrugged. “There is nothing to explain,” she said.

“A few months ago you would have recoiled at the touch of any man,” said Arabella.

“That is true,” Emma replied, “but I was feeling a peculiar lacking in my life and Mr Childermass is not a typical man.” At this she stopped, and barked a laugh. “Oh dear, that sounded positively Jane Austen!”

“She passed away just this summer, you know,” Arabella informed her.

Nodding, Emma said, “I know, they buried her in Winchester. But putting all humor aside Bell, Mr Childermass is a fine man behind all the brooding and ruggedness. It is a matter of respect. He lets me do as I please where no man has ever allowed me to do so.” She bit into a mouthful of chop with finality and Arabella took that to mean she would speak no more on the matter.

Arabella finished the rest of her biscuit and licked her fingers. “Do you suppose you will marry?”

“Not officially,” replied Emma, shaking her head. “But I expect he shall move in once the baby is born.” She seemed to deliberate for a moment and ran a thumb over her left pinky. “If the child is a girl I wish to name her Jane.”

“As in Jane Austen?”

Emma made a noise in her throat. “Do not be silly, Bell! It was you in fact who gave me the idea, when you spoke of the ladies at Grace Adieu several years ago, and I have since taken a fancy to the name.”

“I see,” Arabella said, though she did not exactly. “And does Mr Childermass get a say in this?”

“Not a word.”

Arabella laughed.

 

 

 

“Have you ever given consideration to the nature of the child?” Henry asked her one day.

“What do you mean, Henry?” Arabella asked. She did not look up from her embroidery, more in fear of pricking herself than in disinterest to what her brother was saying.3

Henry, who was putting on his Sunday robes, replied, “Lady Wintertowne was under a magical enchantment for ten years. God only knows what that did to her body.”

“But her body was never in Faerie,” 4 Arabella said.

“No, it was dead.”

“Aside from the animals avoiding her like the plague and the occasional sleepless night, Emma is perfectly fine and healthy,” argued Arabella. Henry straightened his collar, unconvinced.

“But what if the child should have a deformity of the sorts? Or, heaven forbid, magical abilities?”

“Then it shall be like half the men and women in England. I do not think Emma or Mr Childermass are likely to concern themselves with such matters.” Arabella finished the thread and glanced up. “Do not worry so, Henry! You’ll get more lines on your face.”

 

 

 

Vinculus could not have been more delighted.

“I think you would make a right father, actually,” he remarked to Childermass. “A bit scary looking, but fine.” They sat in their London office, Vinculus poring over various business letters with a lorgnette5 and Childermass studying a piece of parchment with some of the King’s Letters transcribed onto it. Sunlight winking through the window made the dust motes around them sparkle.

Childermass spared him an amused look, his hair covering one eye. “I am glad you think so, Vinculus,” he said.

“But a question,” said Vinculus, chewing on the end of his lorgnette thoughtfully. “Are you going to educate the little one in magic?”

Childermass gave no reply, yet a small smile turned up the corner of his mouth.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“It is a good thing to know,” said Childermass.

Vinculus tutted. “Lady Wintertowne hates magic,” he said. “I take it she would tolerate rotten fruit in the house more than she would spells. In fact, I am surprized she bedded you at all.”

Rather than take offense, Childermass chuckled. “You do not know the lady as well as you think,” he said. “She has no qualm with magic itself, only with those who abuse it or use it for their own gain. Maleficium.” 6

Vinculus nodded, scratching his bare throat.7 He popped the lorgnette out of his mouth and twirled it in his fingers. “Well, if you shall do that then Uncle Vinculus here could teach the little one much about—“

“Yes I am aware you have many useful skills, Vinculus,” Childermass said, his nose wrinkling, “but I will not have you corrupting the child.”

“You do not know what I was going to say,” said Vinculus, pouting. Childermass rolled his eyes.

“I have been in your company almost a year now, and have known you for longer than that,” he said, dryly. “It is not difficult to guess.”

Vinculus leaned back in his chair and set the lorgnette down on the desk in front of him. “Very well,” he said, folding his arms. “But I am teaching the child cards.”

“I can teach that.”

Vinculus grinned, showing yellow teeth. “But I can teach how to _win.”_

 

 

 

The child was born on a cloudy May morning that seemed a little too still, almost as if the sky and the trees themselves were waiting.

Childbirth was never easy; not for the mother nor for those around her. Arabella aided the physician with hot towels and water. Childermass looked thinner and more drawn than Arabella had ever seen him, and it made something in her chest soften, just a little. Only true concern could effect a man so.

Emma screamed and screamed, and for the briefest of moments Arabella thought she saw Stephen in one of the bedroom mirrors, murmuring comforts in a foreign tongue with a crown on his head.

Then it was over, Emma sweaty and spent on the bed and Childermass looking slightly ill from all the blood, and a small bundle in the physician’s arms.

It was a girl.

No one spoke for a moment, until Emma gathered enough strength to reach for the bundle. The physician handed it to her, and an infant cry filled the room.

“Hello, Jane,” Emma whispered.

 

 

_1822_

 

When the four-year-old wandered into his office, John Segundus had his nose quite literally in a small-print book and did not notice her.

“Excuse me,” the girl said.

Mr Segundus gave something of a yelp and dropped his book. He peered over at a girl in a green dress with a lace hem, blinking because the York Society was no place for children and yet she looked extremely familiar (though Mr Segundus could not recall ever meeting her before).

The girl looked up at him. “I am counting all the Johns,” she said. “Papa told me I could find one in here.”

Mr Segundus frowned. “You do not mean the loo, I suppose.”

“What’s a loo?”

“A…toilet,” Mr Segundus said. “You do not have to use one?”

The girl shook her head. “I would not need you for that, silly. I can go myself now.”

Then Mr Segundus remembered. “Ah! You are Jane, are you not?” He clasped his hands together. “I have not seen you since you were a toddler, my dear! Where is your mother?”

“At home,” Jane replied.

“And your father?”

Jane thought for a moment. “Downstairs with Uncle Vinculus. Are you a John, mister?”

“That I am,” said Mr Segundus, smiling. Jane nodded, looking proud of herself.

“Papa says this is a place where people do magic,” she said.

Mr Segundus blinked again. “Yes…”

“Can you make me a horse, Mister John?”

“Um—“Mr Segundus coughed—“does—does your father not have one?”

Jane shook her head. “He does. But I want one to bring downstairs. A big, fat one that, that farts a lot.”

“And whatever would you do with such a horse?” asked Mr Segundus. Jane grinned, and for a moment channeled her father so potently that Mr Segundus actually took a step backwards.

“I want it to poop on mean old Foxcastle.”

Mr Segundus did not know whether to laugh or cry. Thankfully, it was at that moment that Childermass rapped on the office door. Mr Segundus rose from his desk to let him in.

“Papa!” Jane exclaimed, running to his side. Childermass smiled and patted her hair. It was a different kind of smile than Mr Segundus was accustomed to seeing on Childermass, and he thought it rather gentle and nice.

“My apologies, Mr Segundus,” Childermass said. “I hope my daughter did not cause you too much distress.”

“Ah—no, she was,” Mr Segundus cleared his throat, “quite lovely.” He gathered it would be some time before he could handle hearing Childermass utter the words _my daughter._

“My visit is actually for her sake,” Childermass said, gazing once more on Jane. “She has been having nightmares, you see. I was hoping the Society had some further readings on dream spells.”

Mr Segundus returned to his desk. “I rather think you are more informed on the topic than I, Mr Childermass,” he said.8

Childermass touched the side of his nose knowingly. “And you speak not of your recent encounters with Lady Absalom?”

“Papa says you dream of princesses,” Jane declared. She had wrapped herself around Childermass’s lower leg, but Childermass seemed not to mind the extra weight.

“Well, not a _princess,_ exactly,” said Mr Segundus, becoming flustered. He looked at Childermass, who was in an oddly good mood. “Have you tried anise and cedar under the pillow?”

Childermass shook his head. “All we have is five-finger grass.”

“Oh! Well, there is a new shop set up down the road—Mrs Redruth runs it, I daresay you remember her…” Mr Segundus prattled on for a bit while Childermass took note of the information. He had not pictured Childermass an especially affectionate man, but observing him with his daughter made Mr Segundus wonder if there was a side to him he had yet to see.

As they were leaving, he asked them, “Out of curiosity, what terrors could such a young child conjure, I wonder?”

Jane, who had been skipping to the door, stopped and regarded Mr Segundus with large, dark eyes.

“Ravens, Mister John,” she said.

 

 

 

Jane Wintertowne was a thoughtful, reserved child who was somewhat cryptic in her behavior and sayings, which could be attributed to her atypical parentage. She had her mother’s fair skin, her father’s sharp features, and wavy black hair from the both of them. In time, she would be quite beautiful. Vinculus called her the Raven Queen. Henry called her Puck.

“Perhaps we should offer to tutor her, when she is old enough,” he said on one occasion. “Otherwise I fear before long she will be running around in short pants and cussing like a seaman with a stubbed toe.”

“You sound like my mother,” snorted Arabella. It was a rather dignified kind of snort, and one she used when she was distinctly trying _not_ to sound like her mother. “However I am sure Jane will grow up to be a perfectly fine young lady. Emma, if anything, will see to it. And I am beginning to suspect Mr Childermass will as well, in his own way.”

“She is already beginning to shew an interest in magic,” noted Henry.

“Oh Henry, have a little faith,” said Arabella, shaking her head. “I admit I too harbor doubts, but I shall not disrespect my friend with a lack of trust. Mark my words, you will look back on this day and laugh at how wrong you were.”

“I have plenty of faith,” Henry said, miffed. “Just not in their parenting.”

It was an odd sort of routine at the Wintertowne estate. Childermass continued to travel and run his errands around England, but was always sure to return to Northamptonshire at least once a week, sometimes staying for several days if his affairs with English magic permitted him.9 Emma did not seem to mind, claiming that they both worked best independently.

Arabella found herself dropping in more often than not to help with the house and nursery when Childermass was gone, as Emma would not permit any maids or servants. She had a sneaking suspicion that it was Childermass who did all the housework apart from the gardening (which was a hobby of Emma’s). Jane mostly kept to herself and her single toy—a cotton-stuffed rabbit named Marty P that Emma had sewn for her—only shewing up to ask Arabella on occasion if she would care to join the tea party.10 She had a curious habit of raising her eyebrow to gain leverage over a person, a trait which Arabella supposed she had picked up from her father.

Childermass was often away, especially in the first years, but Arabella recalled one visit when he had been in town, largely because she had entered Emma’s drawing room to a rather colorful conversation.

“Just tie him down and get it over with,” Emma was saying.

“I have tried,” Childermass glowered. “But he squirms wretchedly and pretends to seize, and then runs off into the yard.”

“Well have you tried a binding spell?”

Childermass pulled a face, replying, “It only binds his fingers together, which make for excellent poking tools, I might add. Magic simply does not work right on him.”

Emma’s nostrils flared. “Then would you explain to everyone why an incredibly naked sexagenarian is parading through town?”

“I shall see to it he gets caught in a thunderstorm.”

“Is Vinculus not bathing again?” Arabella asked.

“Unfortunately no,” Emma replied with a sigh, motioning for Arabella to take a seat on the sofa. “It is making the Letters difficult to copy.”

“You should bribe him, mama,” said Jane, who had crept into the room without a sound. Marty P dragged on the floor behind her. “Uncle Vinculus likes mince pies.”

“I shall not allow Vinculus’s sanitary reluctance to be the cause of our bankruptcy,” Childermass told her, only half joking.

Jane said, “They don’t cost money from Nan’s.” 11

Emma sighed. “Why are you not practicing your piano, dear?”

“It has been a half-hour,” Jane declared. “I have finished.”

“I still think Beethoven is too advanced for her,” Emma remarked to Childermass. “And I do not care for him. He is awfully modern.”

“He is complex,” Childermass reasoned. “And you like modern.”

“There is a difference between modern and good taste, John. I cannot fathom what his patrons see in him.”

Arabella and Jane shared a look as they lapsed into discussion, Jane climbing onto the sofa beside Arabella with an expression that suggested this was a regular song and dance in the house.

Arabella watched, not without some fascination. The collective amount of dry wit from both Emma and Childermass was overwhelming at times. Arabella always felt like she needed a glass of water when they were in a room together. She would not call it bickering, per say, since most of the time they were in agreement on the initial subject but chose to debate the finer details. There was Childermass, with his oily sarcasm and Emma, with her fiery, if a bit caustic retorts. None of which was necessarily directed at the other, but towards the topic at hand.

The strangest thing was that together, they somehow _fit._ It should not have worked, but it did. After all, Arabella supposed, one needed both fire and oil to cook a good meal. Or a particularly unfortunate Englishman.

She was jerked from her thoughts by a soft tug on her sleeve.

“Did you bring any ginger cakes for me, Bell?”

“Not until you’ve had your supper,” Arabella told Jane. “Your mother and father would be cross with me if I allowed you one now.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” said Jane. “They would be jealous. Papa really likes them and mama sneaks them when she thinks we are not looking.”

Arabella did not know quite what to say to that.

 

 

 

Sir Walter Pole still liked to travel out to the country from London, despite his bad hip. He could only manage it every few years, but it was important to him that he visit his family’s patrons when he could. Not to mention it was nice to escape the stuffiness of Parliament and make pretend he was retired, if only for a short while.

When he returned from his recent visit to Emma’s, however, his hip was the least of his concerns.

 

 

 

_“I have a vision, and I know_

_The heathen shall return._

_They shall not come with warships,_

_They shall not waste with brands,_

_But books be all their eating,_

_And ink be on their hands…”_ 12

“Uncle Vinculus, how did you get those things on your skin?”

“Well let me tell you a story, little miss,” said Vinculus, breaking off his song and sitting down in the grass next to her. “When I was just a lad, somebody mistook me for a piece of parchment, took an exceptionally large quill pen, and scribbled all over me.”

Jane giggled and tugged at his beard. “But if it is ink, why does it not wash off?”

Vinculus feigned surprize. “Why that is an excellent question,” he said. “You see, the naughtier you are, the harder it is to get ink off you. And I was a _very_ naughty boy. So the ink just stayed.”

“You do not seem that naughty to me, Uncle Vinculus.”

“I’m too old to be naughty,” replied Vinculus, winking.

Jane crossed her arms. “Was it the Raven King mistook you for paper?”

Vinculus laughed. “That he was,” he exclaimed.

“He could not have been a very smart king,” Jane observed. She pointed to her chest. _“I_ can certainly tell the difference between a man and a piece of parchment.”

“Well, now. That makes two of us,” Vinculus said, something a little heavy behind his eyes.

 

 

 

Emma began taking Jane along the King’s Roads when she was six. Jane adored them. She still missed Brewer, but he had been an old horse and the Roads were much more fascinating. Everywhere one looked there towered all the abandoned homes that had ever fallen into the Raven King’s possession. By this time Jane had outgrown her nightmares of ravens and crows, skipping unabashed along stone steps where her footfalls echoed strangely and there was always a steady breeze.

“Don’t you think we should inform Bell of our visit, dear? I imagine she will be fairly shocked if we turn up unannounced.”

Jane shook her head vehemently. “It must be a surprize,” she told her mother.

“And what if she does not visit her toilet to-night?”

“But she must, I opened the Doors this time,” said Jane. Her black dress and hair billowed in the wind like feathers.13 “Bell will be so proud of me!”

“And quite possibly frightened out of her wits at seeing a reflection that is not hers in the mirror, I think,” replied Emma, looking skyward. A crow squawked from somewhere in the clouds, and Emma took a moment to note that the birds here sounded an awful lot like crying men. It made her smile.

“What is the hour, mama?”

“Here, I cannot say. We live only a short while from Henry and Bell, so it should not be too late.”14

Jane grabbed her mother’s hand and pointed. Ahead lay a mirror embroidered with fairy candle15 and an oak triskele. “I’ve found it!” Waving, she released her mother’s hand and ran up to the mirror, where the image of Arabella combing out her hair swam murkily into view. “Hello! Hello, Bell!”

At Great Hitherden, Arabella looked into the mirror and screamed.

 

 

 

Jonathan’s birthday was always a gloomy time for Arabella. She left her hair undone and stayed indoors, knitting or drawing in her quarters until the sun set and she could retire to bed as soon as possible.

Some part of her still clung, while the other, more sensible parts of her urged her to move on. And for the most part she had. But occasionally there were the days when she would look at storm clouds or eggs or people with ginger hair and sigh. The anniversaries. The birthdays. Jonathan would be thirty-four to-day.

Or, perhaps he wouldn’t.

Arabella used to think of summoning the Raven King himself, the only man in her opinion with the knowledge to bring them back. One time she even tried her hand at a scrying bowl, only to accidentally gain access to Lord Castenbury’s bedroom quarters, where the man was disrobing.16

On these days Jeremy would attempt to regale her with his fond memories of Jonathan in the Peninsula, but after a few years they lost their effect.

“He would be proud of you, you know,” Henry told her.

 _Then why does he not come tell me himself?_ Arabella would bite back, if only in her mind. She knew it was unfair, and that nothing good came to those who dwelled in the mud-water of the past only to drown.

So when there came a knock at the door, Arabella found herself suspicious and, dare she say it, the tiniest bit hopeful.

But it was only Childermass, with a parcel in one hand and the faintest streaks of grey in his hair. Jane bubbled around his knees in her early spring coat. She no longer carried Marty P around with her, but she had something wrapped in one hand, concealed beneath her fingers.

Childermass raised an eyebrow at the state of Arabella’s undress.

“I was not expecting visitors,” Arabella told him.

“I know,” Childermass replied.

With a sigh and a last attempt to right the mess of her hair, Arabella let them in. Jane collapsed upon her favorite spot on Arabella’s sofa and busied herself with the golden pillow tassels.

“Mrs Wintertowne thought you could use some company,” Childermass explained.

Arabella almost smiled at his formal use of Emma’s name, even after all this time. “And Emma is…?”

“In York,” replied Childermass. His eye twitched.

It had taken some years for Arabella familiarize herself with his facial expressions, but after getting past the basics she learned that John Childermass was actually a rather expressive man. The eye twitch was usually an indication that someone was enjoying him or herself at his great expense (which seemed to be happening more and more these days). Arabella found it, if anything, a little endearing.

“Something the matter, Mr Childermass?” she asked.

“We have you a gift, Bell!” Jane exclaimed, before her father could answer. She held up what had been in her hand: a charred rectangle of parchment with engravings of dark, towering mountains surrounding a pentacle.

“It is post,” Arabella observed.17

“From Agrace,” Jane told her, grinning.

“Oh darling, I cannot accept this,” said Arabella, looking at the pentacle. “Not that it isn’t beautiful, but if one were to find such a symbol in one’s home—“she stopped. “Jane, did you say Agrace?”

Childermass wore a pained look.

Jane positively beamed. “It is in He—“

Arabella held up her hand. “I know where it is,” she said. Her gaze fell on Childermass. “You brought your daughter to the Bitter Lands?” she asked, dumbfounded. She did not know if they were intending to raise Jane of Christian faith, but this was certainly _not_ the right way to do it.

Childermass, scowling, replied, “It was no idea of mine, Mrs Strange.”

“Mama let me go, even though papa did not want us to,” said Jane, leaning against the back of the sofa and playing with the ends of her horsetail.

“I am astounded that Emma allowed for such a thing,” Arabella agreed. She gazed knowingly upon Childermass. “That explains your countenance, I suppose. But Jane is well and safe, so do not stay cross with Emma for too long. Additionally, I shall have a word with her when she returns.”

“I seem to recall you expressing similar sentiments on Mr Strange’s exploring the King’s Roads,” said Childermass, some amusement creeping into his voice. He saw her eyes fall at the mention of Jonathan and reached out to place his hand over her own.

“I am sure he is happy, Mrs Strange,” he said, sober. Arabella swallowed.

“When we want people to be happy we make them cobbler,” Jane told her, walking over and wriggling the second parcel out of her father’s lap. “Here,” she said. “It is peach.”

And somehow, it was all exactly what Arabella needed. They cut thin slices of cobbler and snacked on them with Silver Needle tea. Henry arrived not much later, who seemed out of sorts from a particularly rowdy service and was delighted to help himself to baked confectioneries. Afterwards Childermass produced a stem of honeysuckle and chewed on it (his new alternative to smoking a pipe). Jane proposed they play cards and produced a deck from her coat pocket.

“Do not fret,” Childermass told them. “She does not care for the hitting games.18 Faro seems to be her current fancy.” At this he made a face.

“She should not even know how to play that,” Henry said.

Childermass shrugged. “Vinculus,” was all he replied.

Arabella shook her head. “I should have suspected.”

“We play for biscuits,” Jane informed them. She looked around. “But you do not have any, so I will settle for another slice of cobbler.”

 “Don’t you sound sure of yourself, little lady,” observed Henry.

“Should I not?” asked Jane, frowning. Up went the eyebrow. “I have never lost.”

Arabella hid laughter behind one hand. It was turning out to be a splendid day indeed, and by the time the sun had set she had in fact forgotten all about Jonathan and being sad.

 

 

 

_1826_

 

Jane’s first day at the Starecross Academy ended with Professor Gatcombe in tears, the banisters singing _On_ _Ilkley Moor bar t’at_ on loop, and the half-deaf Professor Honeyfoot with the tail of a squirrel. 19

All in all, she considered it a grand start to her academic career. Her parents, however, were not as pleased.

“Do refrain from giving Mr Segundus heart failure,” said Emma, sitting her daughter down the following week after receiving a rather distressed letter in the mail. “He is very delicate.”

Jane wrinkled her nose. “By delicate do you mean running a school that is so elementary in basic magic that I could weep?” she asked.

Childermass massaged his temples with a thumb and forefinger.

”Promise me you will behave yourself from this point forwards,” Emma told her.

“By Bird and Book,” Jane replied, rolling her eyes in a perfect rendition of her father.

 

 

_1827_

 

The death of Beethoven swept through cities far and wide, and to this Jane truly did weep. She had not forgotten the sonatas she had learned, still playing them when she came home from the Academy on Emma’s old piano, which by now was quite out of tune.

Neither Emma nor Childermass minded one bit.

 

 

 

“You shouldn’t do that,” Vinculus said, as he watched Jane hurling rocks at a tree with alarming accuracy.

Jane stopped and turned. “Why?” she asked.

“It will get mad at you,” said Vinculus, nodding at the tree. “Trees in the north are especially touchy. Why are you throwing rocks at them anyway?”

Jane scowled. “Toby said I was a bastard child.”

“Did he now?” Vinculus sighed. “This boy a classmate of yours?” he asked. Jane nodded, jaw clenched.

“I am a bastard aren’t I, Uncle Vinculus?” she said, near tears. She would not cry, though. She had been taught better.

“Most certainly. Your mother is from a nice, respectable family and your father is well, not,” said Vinculus, nodding. “But I hardly see anything wrong with that. Titles, is all it is. Which really is not anything at all when you think about it.”

“I do not want to think about it,” snapped Jane. She squeezed the rock in her hand and gave Vinculus a black look. “I want to throw this at Toby’s bloody head.”

Vinculus laughed. “Let me tell you something I have discovered on my journeys,” he said, and came to lean against the unfortunate tree in a very Childermass-like gesture. “All those _proper_ folk, they might make the best gentlemen and madams, sure.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Pray tell, are you being sarcastic?”

This only made Vinculus laugh harder. “’Tis not at your expense, little miss,” he said. Sobering, he leaned forward. “This here is a bit o’ wisdom passed down from the ages, so listen carefully,” Vinculus told her, holding up a finger.

“They might make the best gentlemen and madams, but I find the children born of wedlock are some of the finest _people_ there are.”

 

 

 

_1829_

 

After twelve years Arabella was quite accustomed to John Childermass and Emma Wintertowne shewing up unexpected at her door. What she was not prepared for, however, was both of them shewing up at half past two in the morning with matching expressions of Armageddon.

“You must help,” Emma pleaded, clasping Arabella’s hands in her own, which were clammy and cold. Childermass did not speak, but his complexion was bone-pasty and his jaw was tight with worry. Both seemed to have dressed hastily. Emma had not even changed out of her sleeping gown.

Henry, smoothing down his sleep-mussed hair, put on some tea while Emma informed them that Jane was missing.

 “She has been having nightmares recently, like the ones she used to have when she was little,” Emma explained. “Back then it was Ravens. Now she dreams of ‘cranes and starlings,’ as she puts it.20 Last week she began walking in her sleep.”

Arabella frowned. “Walking?” she asked. “Where to?”

“Around the home,” answered Childermass, speaking for the first time. His voice was brittle and cracked. “The pantry, our chambers, sometimes the yard.”

“But she stopped,” Emma reminded him. She turned her dark eyes on Arabella. “She stopped, and we thought it over.” She regarded her tea with a miserable expression. Childermass curled an arm around her shoulder and Emma caressed his worn, calloused hand. It was one of the few times Arabella could recall seeing the two openly displaying physical affection. Instead of warming her heart, however, it only seemed to fill it with dread.

“What happened to-night?” she asked quietly.

“We put Jane to bed at ten,” began Emma. “Around one, John woke up in a curious mood, insisting we go check on her. We found her covers pushed aside and the bed empty.”

“I gathered the neighbors and called Vinculus from the mirrors, but so far we know not where she is,” said Childermass.

Arabella looked between them. Childermass was as good as any at finding what he desired, and Emma was one of the most resourceful people she knew. Something did not feel right. “I take it you have used other methods of finding Jane?”

“Of course,” Emma replied, sharing a look with Childermass. “That is the most worrying bit.”

“We have put upon our house spells that shield it from harmful magic,”21 said Childermass. “But regardless of whether Jane’s disappearance is magical or not, I have used both the Cards and a scrying bowl endeavoring to locate her.”

“The water bowl shews anyone if used correctly,” Arabella said. “Did it not reveal Jane’s whereabouts?”

Emma paused. “It says she is not in England,” she said.

“How could she have possibly left the country in three hours?” asked Henry, who had been listening silently from the other corner. A few years ago one would have laughed at the thought. But nowadays the air smelled different, and its fabric was stretched thin with gaping holes like a badly worn road. One could easily slip between its folds, if one were not careful.

Arabella set down her tea. “Could she be in the Other Lands?” she asked them.

Childermass made an angry noise. “I do not know,” he said. “We have sent messengers to Faerie, Agrace, and the Mountain Realms as far as Allhope House. She is not there, Mrs Strange. Even Vinculus worries.”

That, if anything struck home for Arabella. Vinculus was not an easy man to scare or upset. If he was concerned, then things were grave indeed.

Emma looked pained. “Bell, my dear friend. I hate to bother you so, and at such an untimely hour—“

“Not at all,” Arabella interjected.

“But you of all people understand the horrors of waking up to see your beloved’s bed empty, if only second-hand,” Emma told her. “Do you recall where you went, that Christmas?”

Arabella was quiet for a minute. She did not care to dwell on her own enchantment, however brief it may have been.

“I went to a place under the earth,” she said, finally. “There was a field, and on the field there was a hill. I knew exactly where to go, and I did not feel the cold at all. The hill opened its mouth for me. I remember thinking, at that moment, that I wanted nothing more than to go inside.” She swallowed. “As if it were my life’s purpose.”

Emma, Childermass, and Henry fell silent. Arabella rose and slipped on some shoes. After taking a final sip of her tea, which was rapidly becoming cold, she went to fetch her coat.

“Come,” she said, motioning for Henry to do the same. “I am not about to lose another loved one to magic, even if I shall catch a chill and die from it.”

“It is June,” Henry reminded her in a somewhat feeble attempt at reassurance. Childermass shot him a grateful look, and together the four of them set out in search for Jane.

 

 

 

At nine o’ clock sharp, Jane walked through the front door and sat down to breakfast.

For a moment all anybody could do was stare. Having searched through the night and morning, Arabella and Henry had returned with Emma and Childermass to the Wintertowne estate to fret around tasteless tea and bread. When she first walked in they simply blinked, believing Jane to be a figment of their sleep deprivation before common sense settled in.

Childermass stood instantly and Emma ran to her daughter. “Jane!” She checked Jane’s eyes carefully.22 “She is not enchanted,” she announced, relief heavy in her voice.

“Oh thank God,” said Henry, faintly.

Jane looked a bit dazed. She was still in her nightclothes, feet bare and mud-splashed and twigs of various ilk in her hair. Arabella knew that look. It was the countenance of someone who had recently returned from a magical, otherworldly place and was slowly adjusting to reality.

“You seem worried, Mama,” said Jane, frowning.

“Worried does not even begin to _describe_ —“Emma stopped and shook her head. “Jane, where did you go?”

“I stepped outside for a moment,” said Jane. She looked around, her gaze becoming a little more solid. “My, the sun came up quickly! May I have some sausage?”

“You were gone for nigh half a day, Jane,” said Childermass, looking grim.

“And you will not believe who I met,” Jane told them, pleased. Emma took hold of Jane’s elbow and guided her daughter to the dining room, insisting that she enlighten them on her nightly ventures after breakfast.

“I heard my name,” Jane explained, once she had some tea and a meal in her. “It woke me up. I thought it was papa at first, but it was coming from outside.” Her brow wrinkled. “And in my head, too.

“I went out, thinking maybe it was Finnian from down the road playing a trick of sorts (he is such a naughty boy), so I planned to scold him for waking me up,” she continued. “But he was not there. Only this tall black,” she gestured, unable to find the right word, _“structure.”_

“Please tell me you had the sense to use Taillemache’s Shield,” said Emma. “And you did not eat anything, I hope.”23

“A structure? Can you be more specific?” asked Arabella.

Jane shook her head. “I know not what it was, mama,” she said, “but I did not need any protection. I went inside, and I daresay there was not a space in there that was not covered in books or papers!” Here, she smiled. “That is where I met them.”

“Who?”

“Why, the two magicians!” said Jane. Both Childermass and Arabella paled.

Henry glanced at his sister. “Could she mean…?” he asked.

“I had never met them, nor they I, but we knew each other perfectly,” said Jane, still smiling. She spread her palms. “It was most peculiar!”

Acquaintance, it seemed, was a fickle thing. Arabella remembered the pale man at 9 Harley Street with a cloud of silver hair, who she knew most intimately but could not ever recall his name. Childermass thought of Vinculus coming upon a drunkard in the gutter. And of a morning on the moor, where someone in black had passed him by.

“And what did these two gentleman do?” he asked, dangerously quiet.

Jane yawned. “They offered me fish cakes and wished to know what had become of England,” she said. “I told them they could simply step outside and see for themselves, but they only laughed at me. And no, I did not eat the cakes.” She turned to Arabella. “One of them asked about you, Bell.”

Henry frowned, more than a little sleepy. “The cakes?”

“The magician,” Jane said. “The tall one.”

“And—“Arabella cleared her throat, finding the words sticky in her mouth, “what did you respond?”

“I informed him that you were quite well, if a bit sad on his birthdays.” Jane tapped her nose. “See, because I knew who he was.”

“And the other?” asked Childermass, doing a poor job of trying to remain casual.

At this, Jane rolled her eyes. “Well first, he endeavored to give me a lecture upon some topic I cannot recall, but was stopped by the other one in a rather rude fashion. However I do believe he was trying to apologize. To papa.” She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “He did not appear to be very good at it.”

“No, he never was,” said Childermass.

“And what did you do then, my dear?” Emma pried.

Jane’s smile widened. “Then I did magic for them.”

Childermass made a strangled sound.

“They seemed most horrified,” continued Jane, unaware that her father appeared to be having a quiet mental breakdown beside her. “Something about spending the next ninety or so years in the night and that mama would rise from the grave to curse their sou—“

“How did you return?” Childermass demanded.

“There was another man let me out,” said Jane.

“Not the two magicians?”

Jane shook her head again. “The handsome fellow with the funny accent,” she said. “I do not think the others knew he was there, because he was hiding. Did you know him as well?”

“Perhaps,” said Childermass, slowly, as if he were attempting to remember something.

“He told me to congratulate you on your work, papa.”

Arabella found her voice again. “This may seem an odd question, Jane dear,” she said. “But did these magicians appear…content?”

“Oh yes,” replied Jane. “I had heard that the short one in particular was a crotchety old bore, but both were quite happy. They looked _like_ magic. Perhaps that is an odd thing to say?”

Arabella stared at Jane, with dirt crumbles in her hair and bright, dark eyes, and was able to smile. “It is a perfectly normal thing to say,” she told the girl.

Childermass and Emma busied Jane with more queries, Emma fetching a washcloth to clean some of the dirt off and Jane chattering on about odd constellations and a fawn-brindled cat named Bullfinch. Overall they seemed more relaxed, now that Jane was safe and sound. Arabella watched them with a similar look of relief, yawned, and discovered she was quite tired.

“What a right family we make,” Henry said suddenly, at her side. Arabella turned to him in surprize.

“You have never referred to the Wintertownes as family before,” she said.

Henry shrugged. He did so with just his eyebrows, which was typical of him when admitting some fault or snafu. “They might as well be,” he remarked. “I am beginning to think that this is the day you mentioned, back when Jane was little.”

Arabella, unable to recall, asked, “Which day might that be?”

Henry regarded her with amusement. “The one where I look back and laugh at how wrong I was about this whole affair. Between us all we have shared enough oddities to last us a lifetime.” His eyes fell on Jane. “That creates quite a bond, don’t you think?”

Arabella thought of Jane growing up, the child that could have been hers but wasn’t. She thought of Emma, fighting against grim odds with blue fire and strength. She thought of Childermass, with his silver scar and frightening looks that somehow made him the most gentle of all. She thought of John Segundus, writing his books in a cold stone house and bringing warmth to the land. She thought on the King’s Letters, and how they read something different to every magician. And she thought of Vinculus, the endless chain linking England with the world of Old Magic, and all those involved.

Arabella thought of these and smiled. “Yes Henry, I suppose it does,” she said.

 

_End._

 

* * *

 

Footnotes:

1 The _Corvus Corpora,_ an anonymous paper that became popular in East Midlands England after the Revival. It is unclear who started it, though many have suspected Emma Wintertowne herself. She will neither confirm nor deny this.

2 Jonathan Strange possessed a horrible, smothering fear that he would make as awful a father as his own was, though he never spoke to Arabella of this.

3 Arabella had recently taken up the craft, though she fared better at sewing clothes than fine stitch. Emma had been shewing her how to cleanly embroider, yet Arabella still managed to draw blood on several occasions.

4 _Cunning Folk and Familiar Spirits: Shamanistic Visionary Traditions in Early Modern British Witchcraft and Magic_ by Emma Wilby describes fairy lore in such a way that makes me suspect Susanna Clarke must have read this book. One point of interest is the connection between fairies and the dead. Fairies were seen as either departed souls or those existing in a spirit realm inhabited by the dead (69). Further, a human’s transition to the fairy world was only seen in spirit; the soul made the journey while the material body was left behind--and living humans often became trapped there while their mortal bodies withered and died (102).

5 By 1817 Vinculus could no longer ignore his presbyopia, and in secret procured (see, stole) a lorgnette for reading purposes only.

6 Maleficium; a term for magic used by black witches with the intent to harm or hex others.

7 Vinculus never wore a cravat. People who did not know him merely thought it an odd fashion statement. In truth, ever since the moor, he has taken issue with things around his neck.

8 Dream magic was something of an early fascination for Childermass, especially in his first years with Norrell when he would wake suddenly in the middle of the night. He knew how to induce dreams, but not how to remove them.

9 Upon the birth of his daughter Childermass found himself doing a great many tasks that he would have not predicted. Two of these included giving up tobacco and attending tea parties with Marty P—both of which put him in a slightly begrudging mood.

10 Ultimately, Jane was raised to not care much for material possessions nor for her physical appearance. Childermass preached that such things were of little importance in the world, and Emma, finding it refreshing, fully supported this notion.

11 It was not long before Vinculus reestablished contact with his first wife, Nan Purvis, who turned out to be an excellent cook and an overall kind soul.

12 Excerpt from _The Ballad of the White Horse,_ by G.K. Chesterton. The poem would not be written for another ninety years as its author had yet to be born, but Vinculus did not know this.

13 They had learned that one should always wear dark colors when on the King’s Roads. This is so the crows would consider the traveler one of their own and would grant them safe passage.

14 They had in fact lost track of time (probably because time on the King’s Roads was not as absolute as people supposed it was). In reality, it was quite late in the evening.

15 Another name for black cohosh.

16 There have been several noted instances of post-Revival magicians using scrying bowls for unsavory voyeurism, the most famous being Lord Byron spying on Mary Shelley taking her toilet in Ravenna.

17 The first postcard was not made until 1840, but Agrace was always ahead (and sometimes behind) of its time.

18 The “hitting games” Childermass refers to here are Able-Whackets and Are You There, Moriarty? He and Emma refused to teach Jane Cock-a-Roosty, which was a point much argued until she eventually gave up and found renewed pleasure in Honey-Pots.

19 Mr Gatcombe, also known as the Nottinghamshire gentleman, ceased brewing with Mr Tantony to become a teaching assistant in magical chemistry at Starecross Academy. Side note: Mr Honeyfoot kept the tail for a week since he found it improved his hearing greatly, and also developed an affinity for nuts.

20 Cranes are known in Celtic lore to represent death, rebirth, and the paths between worlds. Starling was the supposed _Sidhe_ name for the Raven King. Coincidentally, the Irish word for starling is “Druid.”

21 These spells included Martin Pale’s Invisible Reflection and Protection spell. In addition, Childermass and Emma had shielded the Wintertowne estate in Great Hitherden with two spells of their own making: one to create frightening noises should someone unwelcome attempt entry, and the other to make the estate appear as ruins to an outsider.

22 From _Cunning Folk and Familiar Spirits;_ many believed that if you looked into one’s eyes and did not see your own reflection in their pupils, that person was under an enchantment or bewitched.

23 Taillemache’s Shield, a spell "to ensure safe passage through enchanted places," taken from the Library at Hurtfew wiki. As for Emma’s remark on eating; consuming the food in any fairy realm traps one there, so the fact that Jane desired sausages was especially promising.

 


End file.
